“Basil, I thought you’d be happy about this.”

  “Happy?” I look up at her. “You know I can’t bring Simon home for Christmas. Firstly, because he drained every last bit of magic out of the Pitch family estate—”

  “We’re prepared to let bygones be bygones. Your father was very impressed with Snow’s role in the whole . . . mess this summer.”

  (The mess. When my stepmother joined a magickal cult. And my boyfriend saved the day.) (My boyfriend. Simon Snow.)

  “And,” she continues, “we agreed to set the past behind us.”

  “So . . .” I spread my napkin in my lap with a flounce. “Nobody’s going to mention the Mage or the Mage’s Men or that time Simon arrested Uncle Cyril . . .”

  “Why would we? Your father can’t stand your uncle Cyril.”

  “All is forgiven?” I say. “All of it?”

  “Basil, none of it will even come up.”

  “And no one will mention . . .” Am I going to mention it? Can I just say it? The thing we’re really talking about here? That I’m gay. That I’m practically living with another man. That the reason I’d bring Simon home for Christmas is because I’m in love with him?

  Daphne reaches over the table to touch my arm. “No one will mention anything that troubles you, Baz. And I know that you won’t mention anything that troubles your father. We’ll have a lovely meal. And we’ll open gifts. We’ve cleared out the attic and made it into a guest-room—it’s all ready. We’ll put Mr. Snow up there and you on the sofa. It’ll be marvellous, you’ll see. It will be a start.”

  I frown down at my scone, picking at a sultana. Simon in the guest-room. Me on the sofa. No one saying anything to upset each other.

  “It’s awfully nice of you to invite him, Mum. But Simon Snow is having Christmas with the Salisburys this year.”

  “Oh,” Daphne says. She sounds surprised. And disappointed. “Of course. How very nice for him.”

  Simon isn’t home when I get there. I did bring back petit fours for him and a piece of Battenberg. (I didn’t have to use my pockets; they gave me a box.)

  I try to study. I have a research paper I’m working on, and I should be happy to have the flat to myself. Simon’s out with Penny. Eventually he texts to say he’s on his way back. Then an hour later, he texts to say he’s actually on his way back. I give up on coursework and try to watch a football match, but I can’t focus.

  When Simon finally gets home, I’m slumped on his pink sofa with my feet on the coffee table.

  He walks in and takes off his coat. He’s wearing a blue woollen jumper underneath. Simon’s a great one for jumpers now that he’s figured out how to fold his wings up tight and then hide them under one.

  “How long have you been home?” he asks, looking down at the table. “You’re still wearing your shoes.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Sorry.” I kick off my Oxfords, surely scuffing the backs. They fall in two thumps onto the table. I push them off.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Simon says. “What’s got into you?”

  “Nothing . . . Long day. Couldn’t concentrate.”

  Simon pulls his jumper over his head and shakes his red dragon wings out behind him. He’s wearing one of his new shirts, with flaps that wrap around his wings and cleverly button where he can reach them. “Are you cross with me for getting home late?”

  I frown at him. “What? No. Weren’t you with Penelope?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would I be cross about that?”

  “I don’t know.” He flops down on the sofa next to me, dropping his jumper onto the floor. “Why are you cross?”

  “I’m not,” I say. Crossly.

  Simon frowns at me. “You’re still wearing your suit.” He reaches up and carefully starts to loosen my tie. He’s become very skilled at this over the last few months.

  “I’m not cross with you,” I say.

  “Good.” He gives the tie a sharp tug and slides it out from around my collar. Then he unbuttons my top button.

  “I had tea with my stepmother.”

  “I know. Did she piss in your Darjeeling?”

  “Don’t be crass.”

  “Don’t be coy. Tell me what happened.”

  “She wants me to bring a date home for Christmas.”

  Simon sits back a little. “A date? Where are you supposed to find a date?”

  “Not a date,” I say. “You. She wants me to bring you home for Christmas.”

  He looks as stunned as I was seven hours ago. “But your stepmother doesn’t like me.”

  “I know.”

  “And your father hates me—I ruined your house.”

  “I know. Daphne says they’re letting bygones be bygones.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I believe they won’t mention any of it.”

  “But . . .” Snow still looks confused. I can see where he’s headed next. “I thought your dad didn’t know that you’re . . .”

  “He knows,” I say grimly. “He just doesn’t approve.”

  “So why do they want you to bring home your boyfriend?” (My boyfriend.)

  “I don’t know,” I say. “To appease me, I think. My stepmother says it’ll be ‘a good start.’ ”

  Simon sits there with his face all screwed up like he’s thinking. His very handsome, freckled face. He’s scratching the curls over his forehead with one hand. “Yeah,” he says. “All right. I’ll go.”

  I sit up. “Simon, you can’t. I already told Daphne you’re having Christmas with Lady Salisbury.”

  “I’ll do one day with Lady Ruth and one with you. She’ll understand.”

  “No,” I say emphatically. “You’re not giving up a loving Christmas with people who accept you to spend the day with people who don’t even like you.”

  “They don’t even know me,” Simon says.

  “They blame you for the Mage and the Humdrum—”

  “You said they won’t mention any of that.”

  “They won’t, but—”

  “Good.” He shrugs. “I won’t mention it either. I hate talking about all that shit.”

  “Simon. My father still refers to you as ‘the Mageling.’ ”

  “Your aunt calls me worse than that, and you make me have lunch with her all the fucking time.”

  “I don’t make you—and besides, that’s different. My aunt at least . . . Well, my aunt doesn’t pretend we’re just good pals.”

  “I thought you said your dad knows you’re gay.”

  “He does! But he won’t acknowledge it.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  “Simon, they’re going to put me on the sofa and you in the guest-room.”

  “Do you want to sleep together in your parents’ house—are you mental?”

  “I . . .” I feel agitated. I feel thirsty. I should have hunted while Simon was out. I stand up and take off my suit jacket. “I want . . . I don’t want to be closeted in my own home on Christmas.”

  “Baz.” Simon waves his arm and makes a face like I’m an idiot. “They already know you’re gay—everyone knows you’re gay! Are you upset that you didn’t get to give a speech? They invited you to bring your boyfriend home to meet them properly. I’ve watched enough telly to know that’s a good fucking sign. How will you be less closeted going alone—than with me right there, sitting next to you?”

  “You don’t understand,” I say.

  “I really don’t.”

  I lean over to put on my shoes. “I’m going hunting.”

  “All right.” Simon stands up, reaching for his discarded jumper.

  “No, I’m going alone. I need to think.”

  “All right.” He lets his arms hang, still holding the blue jumper.

  I finish tying my shoes and grab my coat. I stop in the doorway. I don’t turn around.

  “I’m coming back,” I say.

  “I know,” Simon says behind me.

  When I get back to the flat, Simon is in bed. I don’t say anything to him on my way to the shower. All my things are here now. All of my toiletries. My razor. Simon uses whatever soap I leave in the shower. At first I didn’t like it. I wanted him to smell like himself, not me. But he still smells like himself.

  I climb into the bed. He has a real bed now. I brought my down duvet from my aunt’s flat, and my pillows. Simon hogs them. He has all three pillows when I climb into bed. I reach out and pull one, and he rolls towards me, letting me have it.

  I feel his arm come round my waist. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I don’t answer him. But I find his bare stomach. His warm skin.

  “I’ll go wherever you want me to go,” he says. “I’ll spend Christmas with Lady Ruth and Jamie. Like I planned.”

  I bring my hand up to his chest and push. He goes where I want him—on his back, so I can lie with my head on his shoulder. He hooks an arm around me.

  “You don’t understand,” I say.

  “You’re right,” Simon whispers.

  “They won’t acknowledge me.”

  “I know.”

  “We could be married with children—”

  “Could we?”

  “—and my family still wouldn’t acknowledge what we are to each other.”

  Simon is quiet. He’s playing with my hair.

  “What,” I say.

  “Nothing.”

  “I can hear you thinking, Snow. It’s a grinding noise. Like an engine stuck in gear.”

  Simon gives my hair a yank. “I still feel like the invitation is the acknowledgment. But I hear you, Baz—I do. I understand what you’re saying. That you feel . . .”

  “Gaslit,” I say.

  “Right.”

  “And shamed.”

  “Right.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “Like, everything I am is something no one can mention.”

  “They know you’re a vampire, right?”

  I lift up my head to frown at him. “Yes. They know everything. I don’t have any secrets from anyone—apparently!”

  He’s carding his hand in the back of my hair. “Babe. That’s not true. Lady Ruth doesn’t know you’re a vampire. And nobody at school believed me when I told them.”

  I let my forehead drop on his shoulder and groan.

  “Hey.” He kisses the top of my head again. “Why don’t you come to Lady Ruth’s for Christmas with me? We can be as gay as we want there. We can be extra gay, as a treat.”

  “You’re not even gay, Snow.”

  “I am. For all intents and purposes.”

  That makes me laugh. He always gets me in the end. I move closer to him, settling onto him. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “For leaving without kissing you good-bye.”

  “Make it up to me.”

  I lift my chin, and he finds my mouth in the dark. (It isn’t hard; I’m always in the same place.)

  We kiss. In Snow’s bed. (It’s our bed. For all intents and purposes.)

  I pull away. “I want to go home for Christmas.”

  “All right,” Simon says.

  “And . . .” I close my eyes for a second. “I want you to go with me.”

  “All right,” he whispers. He kisses my cheek. “Whatever you want, Baz. Always. Always whatever you want.”

  Later, as I’m falling asleep, Simon nudges me. “Did you remember to bring me cake?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind?”

  “Battenberg and petit fours.”

  “Wicked.”

  “But I ate it.”

  “You ate my cake? Crowley, you must have been a wreck.”

  SIMON

  The plan is, I’m going to ride down to Oxford with Baz today for Christmas Eve, then drive back to London in the morning to have Christmas with my grandmother. Baz borrowed his aunt’s car—I’m not sure whether she knows I’ll be driving it.

  I’m glad Fiona won’t be there today. She’s spiteful and rude, and her husband gives me the full-body creeps.

  Baz’s aunt married an actual vampire. They all say he doesn’t murder people anymore, but “anymore” isn’t a very reassuring word. Fiona can’t bring Nico home for Christmas because Baz’s dad would stake him. I think I’d help.

  We have to leave soon, but Baz keeps changing his mind about what I should wear.

  He’s got me in a tartan suit now. Grey and blue and green, with a little bit of red. Spelled so snug, I can hardly sit down.

  “It’s a little much,” I say, “isn’t it?”

  “My father will think so.”

  Baz is wearing tartan, too. Purple and gold trousers, with a dark red, polo-neck jumper.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a suit?” I ask.

  He’s fussing with my necktie. “Because my father expects me to.”

  “Yeah, but you like wearing suits.”

  “I can wear a suit every other day.” He frowns at the tie and yanks it off. It catches on my collar and pulls my head forward.

  “You’re really going out of your way to get under your dad’s skin,” I say. “I’d think bringing me home would be aggravating enough.”

  Baz opens up my collar and murmurs, “That’s better.”

  Even this little bit of undressing gets to me—I try to catch his mouth. He won’t let me, he’s all business at the moment. Smoothing down my shirt. Straightening my lapels.

  “You don’t have to hide your wings,” he says, brushing off the back of my jacket, where my wings are folded flat. “My parents know about them.”

  “I don’t want to scare the kids.”

  I’m nervous about being around his sisters and his baby brother. I never know what to say to kids. I bought them Christmas gifts. Baz told me not to, he says they’re spoiled rotten, but I did it anyway.

  I hope they’re too little to remember the last time I came for Christmas—when they had to flee their house in the middle of the night.

  That’s the same Christmas I killed the Mage.

  And lost my magic.

  That’s the Christmas when I first kissed Baz . . .

  I look up. He’s stopped patting and picking at me. He’s just standing there, watching me, like he’s thinking deep thoughts, too.

  “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, Simon Snow.”

  I grin. I get my arms around him. “I thought you said vampires could see themselves in the mirror.”

  After I made their castle unlivable, Baz’s family moved to a hunting lodge in Oxford. I don’t know what I was expecting a hunting lodge to look like, but it’s not this—another giant, rich-person house. This one looks right out of a fairy tale. Timber-framed with a thatched roof. A huge wreath on the door.

  Baz is getting out his key—it’s the size of my hand, an actual metal key—when the door opens. His stepmother is standing there, wearing a floor-length red dress. Baz’s stepmum looks like if Billie Piper and Kate Beckinsale had a daughter. She’s much younger than his dad. And much nicer, as far as I can tell.

  “Basilton,” she says, pulling him into a hug.

  “Mum,” he says, hugging her.

  “And . . .” She smiles at me, and it’s only a bit strained. I’ll chalk that up to embarrassment; the last time I saw Daphne Grimm, she was getting catfished by a magickal cult leader. “Mr. Snow,” she says.

  “Call me Simon,” I say.

  “Simon, of course. Welcome. We’re so glad you’ve come.”

  I’m holding a box of gifts, so she and I are both saved from a hug. She just waves us in and takes our coats away.

  Two little girls are already climbing up Baz’s legs. That’ll be Sophie and Petra. He says I shouldn’t bother trying to tell them apart. They’re dressed like little dolls—in red velvet dresses, with shimmering gold bows tied at their waist.

  “You’re too heavy to pick up,” Baz groans, lifting them each for a hug. “This is my friend Simon. You’ve met him before, but you don’t remember.”

  “Hullo,” I say.

  They narrow their eyes at me. (Maybe disliking me is in their genes.)

  One of them pulls on Baz’s jumper. “Basil, are you staying the night?”

  The other pulls on the other side. “Mum says you’re staying the night.”

  “Mum says we’re to be nice to your friend even if he’s stupid.”

  “No—even if he does something stupid.”

  “I’m glad you’ve been warned,” Baz says. “Now get off me. You’re ruining my jumper.”

  Another girl in a matching red dress walks by. She has headphones on, and she’s watching something on her phone. Mordelia.

  Daphne’s back, and she’s holding a toddler (Swithin) wearing a little grey suit with a red waistcoat. Merlin, the whole family is dressed like a royal Christmas card.

  “Let me show you the guest-room,” Daphne says to me, handing the baby off to Baz. “It’s in the attic, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say.

  I’m following her out of the room when Baz’s dad walks in from the other side.

  Everyone changes.

  Mordelia pulls off her headphones. Daphne and Baz stand a little taller. The twins stop jumping on Baz and hold their hands behind their backs, as if they’re used to being naughty and having something to hide.

  I brush my hand against my hip like I’ve got a sword hidden there. (I don’t.) (Baz wouldn’t let me bring it.)

  Malcolm Grimm is looking right at me. He’s as tall as Baz, with a dark suit and snow-white hair. He’s handsome, in a cruel and elderly way. Baz and his dad don’t really look alike, but they sort of move alike. Stand alike. Frown alike.

  Mr. Grimm steels himself at the sight of me. He clears his throat. “Mr. Snow,” he says. “Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you,” I say, deciding not to tell him to call me Simon.

  He turns to Baz, and his eyes immediately drop to the purple trousers. His frown deepens. (Has he not seen Baz’s flowered suit? It’s much worse than this.)

  “Basilton.”

  “Father.”

  “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you, sir. As are you.”

  “Yes, well . . .” His dad clears his throat again.

  “I was just taking Simon up to show him his room.” Daphne links her arm in mine and pulls me towards the stairs.

  Baz catches my eye as I go. He looks worried. I wink. We’ll both survive this. We’ve survived everything else so far.